


A Walk in the Woods

by DaronwyK



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark, F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaronwyK/pseuds/DaronwyK
Summary: Hermione lures Dolores Umbridge into a meeting and things go horribly wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a photo prompt on the Death Eater Express - Plunny Factory.   
> Warnings for Very Dark material.

o.o.O.o.o

 

It had been easy enough. An anonymous note to Dolores about meeting to reveal the secret location of Harry Potter. She’d known the woman wouldn’t be able to resist the allure of being the one to grant the Dark Lord his deepest, darkest wish. She arrived hours in advance, hiding under disillusionment charms. At the appointed time, a flash of pink appeared and the toad woman stepped into the clearing…her little beady eyes darting around.

 

Hermione stepped out, walking into a spill of moonlight. “Hello Dolores,” she said.

 

“YOU!” The woman hissed, going for her wand only to find herself in a full body bind, hitting the ground with a dull thunk.

 

“Yes, me. Little, worthless, mudblood me,” she said, brown eyes dark with suppressed rage. “You really were stupid to come here alone Dolores, so predictably ambitious. I seriously wonder if you possess any guile at all.” She picked up Dolores’ wand and moved back. “I’d love to chat…but I simply haven’t the time. If I don’t return soon, Harry will need to move on without me, and I would hate to miss our rendezvous.” She looked down at the helpless witch and felt nothing but disgust. This woman had rounded up hundreds of innocent muggleborn witches and wizards and treated them worse than scum. She hated her. “Avada Kedavra.” She cast, and green light illuminated the clearing. Dolores Umbridge was no more.

 

Hermione felt bile in the back of her throat and she turned, retching. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then snapped the dead witch’s wand in half and left it where it fell. She cast a simple levicorpus, and started moving out of the clearing, intending to leave the body deep in the dark forest where the more predatory creatures would find it. With luck there would be no trace of the evil witch in a week’s time. As she moved deeper into the woods, she felt the tension leech from her shoulders. She’d actually done it. The evil bitch was no more. The woods were still tonight, as if they understood not to cross the witch currently passing deeper into its depths.

 

The sudden sound of clapping made her spin, wand at the ready.

 

“I never thought you had it in you, girl,” a voice drawled from just behind her. “Put it down. If I wanted you dead, I had lots of time.” The tall blonde figure of Thorfinn Rowle pushed himself away from a tree, and circled to her right. “Never liked that stuck up bitch myself, but I didn’t figure you for having the stones to kill her.”

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said warily, tracking him as he moved around the clearing.  

 

“I know you’re a dab hand at memory charms,” he said and stopped, looking at the petite witch speculatively. She was a pretty little thing, it was a shame she was a mudblood. Though, unlike some of his compatriots he did think they had their uses. “Like the ones you did on me and Antonin…and the one you did on your parents.” He grinned darkly.

 

Hermione paled. “What did you do to them?” Her blood turned to ice in her veins and she gripped her wand tightly.

 

“Nothing…yet. Australia is a long way off after all, but I know where they are, little witch.” He smirked, advancing on her.

 

“Leave them alone…please.” She felt tears rising in her eyes.

 

“Maybe I will, in exchange for something.” He pausing a few feet away from her, head tilting to the side as he considered her.  “Question is, little witch, what are you willing to give up for their lives?” he asked her quietly.

 

Hermione lowered her wand, shaking now as she shook her head. “I can’t give you Harry.” She shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

 

He reached out, and used his thumb to wipe the tears away. “Sure you can…they’re your parents. Your blood. There is nothing more important in this world than blood, little witch. You know that.” The Dark Lord had guessed that a member of the Order had contacted Umbridge, and he’d been quite willing to sacrifice her in order to get their hands on someone important to the resistance. He’d been given full powers to negotiate or torture, to get Potter’s location. “Just tell me girl, no one ever needs to know it was you.” He gently slipped her wand from her hand.

 

“I can’t…please…anything else. I *can’t*,” she protested, falling to her knees in the leaf litter, collapsing forward onto her hands.  

 

“Shhh…it’s just a few words little witch, nothing so terrible.” He knelt down on one knee and stroked a hand over her hair. “Tell me, and I’ll take you somewhere safe, and no one will ever know that you betrayed him. I’ll keep you safe.” His voice was soft, like he was talking to a frightened animal. “No more running, no more fear, no more cold nights alone wondering if you’ll be found, it’ll all be over at last.” He tipped her chin up. “I don’t want to hurt you little witch, just tell me where he is.” His blue eyes willed her to comply. 

 

“The Forest of Dean,” she whispered, and dropped her head down, sobbing as though her heart was broken.

 

“For how much longer?” he asked her.

 

“An hour…then they move on,” she whispered.

 

“Take my hand.” He offered it, relieved when she reached out and slipped her hand into his. He concentrated and apparated them away from the forest and the hideously pink corpse of Dolores Umbridge. They popped through in front of a little stone cottage with a thatched roof. He looked down at the girl, seeing that she was in the early stages of shock. She didn’t put up a fight as he took her up the gravel walkway and inside the cottage, sitting her in a chair near the fireplace.  

 

“Stay there,” he ordered her, and turned to the fireplace. He threw in a bit of floo powder and stuck his head in. “Potter is in the Forest of Dean, you have less than an hour. The Order contact gave him up.”

 

Bellatrix grinned darkly. “And the contact?”

 

“Dealt with,” Thorfinn responded simply. “Umbridge is dead as well.” He would let them assume that he’d killed the member of the order. It was cleaner that way.

 

“Will you join the raid?” Bellatrix was already organizing the death eaters and had summoned their lord.

 

“I have injuries to tend to. I await our Lord’s victory,” he said.

 

“It is assured,” she answered.

 

He withdrew his head from the flames and turned to the witch sitting in his chair. He put a kettle on to boil and grabbed a warm fleece blanket to wrap around her slender form. “You didn’t have a choice…there’s no use dwelling on it. It’ll be over soon, one way or another.” He said, meeting her eyes.

 

“I did have a choice. I betrayed my friends.” She protested, shaking her head wildly. She could feel the panic grip her and then he shook her hard, fingers digging into her upper arms.

 

“No. You had no choice. You could have fought, and I’d have disabled you. You could have tried to resist telling me, and I’d have tortured you and you’d have broken. You had no choice, other than tell me what I wanted to know. Do you understand me?” He held her gaze until she nodded, and then he released her.

 

“Why didn’t you just turn me over to them?” Hermione asked, her eyes haunted by the horror of what she had done.  

 

“Because, little witch, you’re more interesting alive.” Thorfinn grinned darkly, having so many plans for the little witch. His own secret weapon.


	2. Chapter 2

o.o.O.o.o 

 

Thorfinn made a cup of tea for his ‘guest’. Her vacant expression worried him, but he supposed it wasn’t all that surprising. He added a little bit of sleeping potion to it knowing she’d need her rest, and he’d rather not worry about her wandering off in case the Dark Lord summoned him. Not that there was anywhere for her to go, but it would be an inconvenience to have to hunt all over the island for her. He carefully placed the mug in her hands.

 

“Drink this, it will help.”

 

“Why do you care?” she asked, shifting her gaze to meet his eyes.

 

“I promised to take care of you and I always try to keep my promises, little witch,” he said simply. “Try not to worry too much, your friend seems good at getting out of tight spots.” Thorfinn knew it drove his Master over the deep end every time he managed to slip away.  

 

“Will you tell me if he’s…” she whispered, feeling tears threaten again.

 

“Are you sure you want to know?” He asked her, realizing with a start just how damned young she was. Logically, he knew that she was only 17 or so, but this was the first time she’d really looked that young. Earlier, when she’d been standing over Umbridge, there had been a hardness there, but now she was soft and vulnerable. The full weight of her actions tearing at her conscience.

 

“I need to know.” There was a grim finality to her words and then she dropped her eyes, lifting the mug and drinking the hot liquid obediently.

 

Thorfinn was certain she could taste the undercurrent of the sleeping draught, but she seemed to understand the futility of resisting. Physically he was perfect capable of forcing the potion down her throat, and he could imagine that a part of her welcome the oblivion the drink promises.

 

“All right, if you’re sure.” He said and sat down across from her.

 

“Where are we exactly?” A slight haze seemed to obscure her eyes, and he knew the potion was starting to take hold.

 

“A small island in the Scottish Hebrides,” he explained. “There’s no one else on this particular island, so you’ll find no locked doors here. I’m the only one that can apparate in or out, so you even if you got your wand, there’s no way for you to get off this island. Given the current, I really don’t recommend swimming for it either.” Thorfinn stressed that, needing her to understand. “You also don’t need to worry about anyone showing up unexpectedly. Not a single person alive, other than myself, knows that this place exists. It’s a safe house of sorts. ”

 

Hermione nodded, a look of hopeless desolation settling on her face as she realized that she was completely trapped here with him. “What will you do with me?” she asked, unable to even look at him.

 

“I don’t know yet, but I didn’t lie to you. I won’t hurt you girl, I don’t take any pleasure in needless pain.” He didn’t make a move towards her. He could guess what she was afraid of, and given some of his fellows that fear wasn’t terribly unfounded. He personally didn’t engage in those activities though. “For now…just try not to make any trouble for me.”

 

“Easy enough to promise when you’re drugging me.” Hermione slurred her words a little as her eyelids began to droop.  

 

“If our positions were reversed, you’d be doing the same. After all, little witch, I know how dangerous you really are.” He saw her waver, eyelids fluttering closed as the potion kicked in. He grabbed the empty mug before she dropped it, and picked the slender girl up, carrying her effortlessly up to the second level. He hadn’t been intending on having company here, but this place had once been a bustling family home so there were plenty of spare rooms. It had belonged to his great grandparents, and had been a refuge for the Rowles in times of trouble. He laid her down on the bed a moment, and took a few minutes to give the room a cursory cleaning. He went back to his own room and found a clean t-shirt that would have to do for her to sleep in until he could get her clothes cleaned. Her jeans were covered in mud, and her soft grey sweater had obviously been a while without a proper cleaning.

 

Carefully, Thorfinn undressed her, unashamedly admiring the view as he stripped off her undershirt, and unhooked her bra. He restricted himself to simply looking however, when he saw just how many bruises, healing wounds, and even bite marks there were marring her skin. He sighed and simply pulled the shirt on over her head. He took off her muddy trainers and socks, seeing the blisters there and frowning. He undid her pants, and peeled them down her legs. After a moment’s debate, he decided to leave her panties in place, not wanting her to wake up panicking about that. There were more bruises there, clearly gained from running through the woods, with the majority marching up the fronts of her shins and knees. He simply tucked her under the blankets and gathered up her clothes, shutting the door behind him. She needed the sleep, or else such a small dose wouldn’t have knocked her out so completely.

 

He went downstairs to the little laundry room off the back of the kitchen, and tossed her clothes in an all-together too normal, muggle washing machine. He tapped the machine with his wand and let it start chugging away. That done his mind turned to the predicament he currently found himself in. He’d been 15 when the Dark Lord had marked him, in the summer before his fifth year. His father had offered him up like a sacrifice to his master, whispering how good it would be to have a spy inside the school. A few short months later he’d fallen. Like many marked in those times he’d simply learned to conceal that fact that he’d been a Death Eater, hoping against hope that he was really gone for good. Of course, none of them had been that lucky. He’d returned, and called his former followers to him. He and some of the others, who had just been teens when he’d fallen, had been spared the pain of punishment for not trying to find him. He’d kept his head down, doing whatever he was told, and started doing what any good Slytherin would in his place. He’d begun to plan.

 

There was a silent majority amongst the Death Eaters and their families, witches and wizards that were currently toeing the line, simply because there was no other choice. They were marked for death or Azkaban by the other side, and if they rebelled their deaths would come on very swift wings from their own Master. Thorfinn hated what their society had become, that their leaders were always apologizing for being what they were. There was NOTHING for them to be ashamed of for being pure-bloods. Their history and culture was a rare thing, unique.

 

Muggleborns had their uses, after all every genepool needed an infusion of fresh blood from time to time, but they should not have to admit they were their equals, or elements forbid their superiors. Fools like Albus Dumbledore had driven the wedge wider with every attempt to be ‘inclusive’. He was all for restoring tradition, but he’d never been too comfortable with the genocide their leaders had in mind. One look at the Black family would show anyone with half a wit, the dangers of inbreeding and stagnant bloodlines. The odd exceptional muggleborn witch or wizard had a place in their world. Killing them off was not the answer, and he wasn’t the only one to see it. No one could openly speak against the Dark Lord, but he was clever and could see in the eyes of some just how easy it would be to lure them away if there was a palatable alternative.

 

If Potter survived tonight, he’d see about plotting a path down that particular road. If he died, then he’d need to make other plans. He was pouring himself a shot of fire whiskey when his dark mark began to burn. Not just a general summons, this was specific. He mentally swore, and hid Granger’s wand behind a loose stone in the hearth and then went outside, apparating to his Lord.

 

Thorfinn fell to his knee before the Dark Lord as soon as he popped through. “My Lord, you summoned me?” Hidding behind a curtain of golden hair, he waited to be addressed.

 

“Yes. Rise Thorfinn…my favoured one. Tonight you have pleased me beyond measure,” he said.

 

Thorfinn rose to his feet, standing taller than the Dark Lord, indeed taller than any of them. “I am glad my efforts please you, my Lord. The boy is dead then?” he asked.

 

“Alas…no.” The Dark Lord gestured to the prone body of Bellatrix Lestrange, where she lay twitching in the dirt. “Your intelligence was correct, but her incompetence allowed the boy to escape. You should punish her for it. If she had simply been a bit more careful we would have Potter, and the war would be over at last.”

 

Thorfinn drew his wand. “If it pleases my Lord, I will punish her until her brains run from her ears.” He said, baring his teeth in a predatory grin. He’d never like the crazy bitch. You couldn’t trust rabid fanatics, and Bellatrix was a true believer.

 

“Do not render her mindless; she is still useful, at least for the moment,” Voldemort said and waved a hand at the tall Death eater.

 

“ _CRUCIO_.” He cast the Unforgivable, watching dispassionately as the witch screamed and writhed under his wand. He pushed it as far as he dared, before cutting the spell off and bowing to his master.

 

“Get her out of my sight.” Voldemort hissed at the watching Death Eaters. “Walk with me Thorfinn.” He said and turned into the forest. “Bellatrix told me that Dolores was killed.”

 

“Yes, the Order’s agent killed her before I could intercede,” he said.

 

“And this agent?” The Dark Lord enquired, head tilting a little to the side.

 

“Once I had the information you required, I dealt with them. I didn’t believe there was any need to take them to Malfoy Manor for imprisonment.” Thorfinn was incredibly careful not to lie, choosing to simply obfuscate the truth.

 

“Severus always told me you were clever, and I never had any reason to believe him until now. So quiet, always watching, and now you nearly hand me Potter on a platter, save for another’s incompetence.” He said and placed a hand on Rowle’s shoulder. “You will be my Lt. from here on out. Everyone answers to you. Find me the boy again, every day he escapes me it emboldens our enemies. Can you do this for me?”

 

“I live to serve you, my Lord. I will find the boy, no matter what it takes.” He swore.

 

“To that end, I have something for you.” He led him further into the woods where a figure lay frozen on the forest floor. The head of red hair nearly perfectly matched the blood painting the boy’s face rather vividly. “Find out what he knows…then kill him. The body will make for quite the show piece.”

 

Thorfinn nodded. “Yes, my Lord.” He bowed and moved forward, feeling his master leave them. He looked at the figure of the boy on the ground and mentally sighed. He’d been ordered to kill him, so there no other end he could allow, not if he wanted to protect his little prize. He levitated the body up, checking his pulse and finding it quite strong. He heard footsteps behind him. Fenrir.

 

“What will you do with the boy?” Fenrir growled.

 

“What our Master has bade me; interrogate and then kill him. Is the safe house near Brixton occupied?” he asked the were-wolf. He had little use for the creature, but plenty of respect for the violence he was capable of. Only a foolish wizard ignored the danger a werewolf like that could pose.

 

“No, it’s vacant.” Fenrir growled, wanting to get his hands on the little blood-traitor.

 

“Get it stocked with food, and basic medical supplies. I can’t have the boy expiring on me before I learn what he knows.” He said dismissively, unable to help the smile that crossed his lips as the werewolf headed off to complete his task. He checked the boy over for wounds, finding nothing save for the broken nose that accounted for all the blood. He’d been stunned and petrified…easy enough to remedy once he was secure.

 

He grabbed hold of the boy and apparated out of the forest, into the front hall of a dingy little townhome. He levitated the boy through the house and down into the basement. He locked him into the little cell in the corner and ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he realized he’d just smeared partially dried blood through it.

 

He lifted his wand and reversed the spells holding the boy immobile. He dragged a chair over, and watched as the boy slowly came to, saw the realization of his situation dawn on him.

 

“What have you done with Harry and Hermione? You bastard, if you’ve hurt them I’ll kill you!” Ronald Weasley yelled.

 

“Harry escaped, narrowly. As for the girl? No idea where the little mudblood is.” He shrugged and nodded to Fenrir as he came down stairs with a basket. “I’m sure she’ll turn up though, maybe my friend here will be kind enough to keep her company when she does.”

 

Fenrir grinned. “Nothing sweeter than the meat of a little girl like that.” He bared his teeth at Ron.

 

“That will be all Fenrir…I’ll summon you if I need anything else.” Thorfinn said, enjoying the resentment in the creature’s eyes. It was the little things that made life worthwhile. He waited until he heard the door at the top of the stairs slam and then he cast a non-verbal muffilato. “So…Ron Weasley, isn’t it?” He said and deliberately took an apple from the basket and bit down on it. “Been on the run long?” He asked.

 

Ron’s jaw tightened, looking away and trying not to hear the crunch as he chewed on the apple. His stomach rumbled loudly and twisted painfully.

 

“It’s a simple question, boy. Answer a couple of those, and I’ll give you some bread and cheese. Must have been a while since you’ve had a good meal.” He said.

 

Ron swallowed and nodded, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Since the Ministry fell.” He whispered.

 

“That long mmm? You’ve done well to avoid detection then. So it’s just been the three of you then, all that time?” He looked surprised.

 

“Yes.” He answered, looking surprised when the Death Eater stood and walked over, handing him a bottle of water and bun with some sliced cheese in it.  

 

“Good lad.” He said. “I’m not unreasonable boy, tell me what I need to know and this doesn’t have to be so unpleasant for you. I don’t like torturing children.” He said and moved his chair to sit in front of the cell, enjoying his apple.

 

“Signed up for the wrong side then.” Ron mumbled.

 

“Both sides have done their share of evil, boy…don’t delude yourself into thinking they haven’t.” He chuckled a little. “So, now for the harder questions. What have you and the Potter lad been up to all these months? Surely there was some plan other than scurrying around the woods like vermin.” He asked. He didn’t really think the boy would answer, he just needed some damned eye contact. He wasn’t the most talented legilimens in the world, but he could do enough for this he was fairly certain.

 

Ron narrowed his eyes. “Nothing, we’ve been hiding while the order prepares to take the rest of you scum out for good.” He spit.

 

“So, you and Potter…do you share that pretty mudblood? Or do you just watch while she does him?” He taunted him, enjoying the scream of rage as the boy rushed the bars. He hit them hard, but Thorfinn stood and his hand shot in, tangling a hand in his hair and pulling his head back to force him to meet his eyes as he cast. “Legilimens!”

 

He rushed in, the boy’s mind rough and chaotic. His taunts had succeeded in making him too angry to mount any manner of defence. He saw a sword in the boy’s hand, the image of his little witch nude in the embrace of Harry Potter, taunting Ron…telling him he was nothing. He watched the boy lift the sword and destroy an antique locket…the dark vision dissolving as he did. A rush of other memories, fights between the three, the girl crying with blood on her hands as she tried to stop a gaping wound from bleeding out. He shifted through the swirl of memory, finding images of another item, a golden cup, stolen by his little pet from Bellatrix’s vault. Clever little thing. He heard the plan to go to Hogwarts, saw the boys waiting for Hermione, saw their worry. Time ticked by and she didn’t come, then hell exploded around them as Death Eaters appeared all through the forest, curses flying through the dark not caring what it struck or who.

 

He ripped through the boy’s mind taking all he knew about these objects, these Horcruxes, and all the knowledge about their Master himself. A fucking Halfblood. The great blood supremacist himself was the son of a filthy muggle. Knowing the boy had to die made him less careful as he rooted through, learning every dirty little secret his mind held. Thorfinn rooted out everything he could now about his prize, his little witch. Saw her evolve from an awkward, bossy, know-it-all to the beauty he’d just captured. He saw this boy break her heart, then seek to win it back clumsily. He saw her ingenuity, her cleverness during their flight through the world as they evaded the Snatchers and Death Eaters. He saw her weeping over the body of House Elf that had saved her, and then battling through Gringotts. He finally released the boy and sneered.

 

“What a fool you were, to never see what you had.” He said and looked down at the twitching form of the boy with a kind of pity. He could end him now, cleanly, but he needed to buy a little time yet. He lifted his wand and pointed it at the boy’s forehead. “Obliviate.” He took the memory of his mental attack from the teen and turned away from the cell.

 

He headed upstairs and looked at Greyback. “I need to verify some of the information he gave me. I’ll return tonight. You can play with him a little, but don’t kill him. Our Master will be most unhappy if you do.” He gave the werewolf a hard look.

 

“I’ll make sure he lives.” The werewolf chuckled and headed for the stairs as Thorfinn apparated away. He knew full well what Greyback would do to the boy, but there was little help for it. As soon as he’d been taken, the Weasley boy’s fate was sealed. There was nothing he could do without exposing himself or his plans. So the Dark Lord was vulnerable, and a doe patronus…he was one of the few that would recognize it. Severus Snape was helping the Potter brat. An ally perhaps, if approached carefully.   

 

Thorfinn entered the cottage and went back to the kitchen, and grabbed his drink. It was right where he’d left it. Throwing it back, he let the burn in his throat distract him. Bloody fucking hell he hated being in someone else’ head, no matter how useful it could be at times. It was a skill he kept carefully to himself, it was too dangerous to advertise. He stripped off his shirt, seeing a smear of blood on it and tossed it into the laundry room. He could grab a few hours of sleep before having to deal with his witch. He had a proposition for her, and given everything he now knew about her, he was fairly certain she’d accept. Merlin be praised for self-sacrificing Gryffindors.

 

He finished undressing and threw himself down on his bed, wand close to hand…just in case. Sleep came quickly, used to catching a few hours whenever he could. Plans and plots ran through his mind, centering on the petite brunette currently sleeping across the hall. She was the keystone, the piece he had always been missing for this to work. Now he just needed her to co-operate, it’s a good thing he could be very persuasive. In his sleep a smirk curled up the edge of his lips.


End file.
